


Wednesday

by Turtle



Series: Days of the week [2]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-17
Updated: 2009-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle/pseuds/Turtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another day that makes Chris' life more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It’s Tuesday again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to seileach67, for yet another super beta, plus the gift of many hyphens and semicolons. Any remaining errors are entirely my own doing. And thanks also to mikes_grrl for general encouragement and help with problematic sentences.

Chris quickly ducked back into a stall as Tyler entered the bogs. He wanted nothing to do with the man if he could avoid it. The DI had been even more of a prat than usual lately, and today it seemed, the Guv had had enough, giving it right back with all of his usual style, and making the other man’s mood even worse. Whatever the hell was going on, Chris really didn’t want to get involved.

Tyler was muttering to himself as he banged the door shut just a bit harder than necessary. He stalked half-way across the room before turning abruptly and kicking the bins clear across the floor with a wordless cry of frustration. Chris retreated farther into his hiding place, and so had no idea what the next few bangs and clangs were from. By the time he ventured to peek out again, his DI had come to rest over by the sink. Then, suddenly, with a vicious anger, he banged his fist on the wall next to the mirror. The watching DC flinched, but did not know if it was at the blow, or the increasingly distinguishable words that still flowed from the other man’s lips.

“Bent. Poof. Fairy. Queen. Bleedin’ pansy. Fucking ass queer!”

“Why the bloody hell does he always go with the sexuality insults! And in front of the others, always gives them a good laugh at my expense. He can’t possible believe any of it. If he actually thought, just for one moment, that any of that were true, it would blow his homophobic little mind. No, not possible, not one of his precious team. He would take it as some sort of personal slight on his own manhood!”

The conviction in Tyler’s voice as he ranted drove ice into Chris’ heart. Not that he had believed otherwise, but some small part of him had refused to surrender the desire for it to be different.

“Serve the bastard right if I did it.” The angry man hissed with a manic edge to his voice Chris hadn’t heard in a while. “Went out and shagged some bloke. Where would his petty little insults be then? Turned back in his face. How would he deal with that?” The small choke of laughter that followed was bitter and ugly, and anything but amused. “That son of a bitch has actually gotten me worked up enough that I think I could. All this anger, energy, frustration. At this point a good hard fuck is _exactly_ what I need!”

Chris couldn’t believe his ears, or Tyler’s stupidity. He still couldn’t tell how serious the DI was being, but it almost didn’t matter. If this rant was all some sick, anger fueled, dark joke, then it was insanely stupid and reckless to engage in such a thing where there was any possibility of being overheard. And if, by some small chance, it wasn’t a joke? Then it was even stupider.

Finally, after a few more angry bitter words, the man seemed to deflate, sinking down to rest his elbows on the sink, and put his head in his hands. Chris took the opportunity to slip towards the door, but halted, frozen there, as Tyler once again spoke. This time the words are tired, and laced with self-mockery. “Who am I kidding, it’s bloody 1973. I am not sure I could think of a more insane idea in this time and place. Besides, most gays here are still so deep in the closet it would take a miner’s helmet to find them. Even if I really wanted to do something that potentially suicidal, I wouldn’t have the first idea where to look. Just as well, what I really need to do is calm down.”

Still hovering by the door, Chris was in the process of deciding whether of not to say anything, when he heard the words come out of his mouth. “You could always try The Blue Feather, ain’t more than a few blocks from here, really. Or down by the canal, always a few blokes there looking for something to pass the time.”

Sam whipped around to stare wide-eyed at Chris, who stared back nearly as startled as Tyler. “What exactly are you saying Skelton?”

“Just letting you know where to go for a cheap shag, if that’s all what’s stopping you.”

“How much of all that did you hear?” The fear in Tyler’s eyes was just a bit thrilling, for all it mirrored the fear Chris lived with everyday.

“Enough.”

“And yet you haven’t run off to tell Carling or the Guv. Are you setting me up for some kind of public joke? I hadn’t figured your sense of humor for that much of a cruel streak.” Tyler’s gaze was equal parts hostile and assessing.

“No joke, Boss.” Chris swallowed the lump that threatened to claw its way out of his throat, and forced himself to look his DI in the eye. He had no idea why he hadn’t slunk off while he had the chance, but now that he stood here under the gaze of a man that had taught him so much about being a good detective, he felt loath to back down from either his mentor or himself. “Seems to me that would be a bit hypocritical like.”

“What are you trying to say?” The hostility and fear was fading from that gaze to be replaced by bewilderment, and a bit of honest curiosity.

Chris‘ nerve gave out. He was _not_ going to have this conversation, and certainly not in the bogs here at the station. He began backing away. “Nothing, nothing at all.” And with that, Chris left. If he stuck close to Ray for the rest of the day, he was pretty sure he could keep Tyler from speaking to him.

**

\----

**

Chris spent the next few weeks terrified of what he had done, of what Tyler would do. Luckily he had gotten rather used to carrying on as if everything was fine and normal, when he was anything but. So that was what Chris did.

What Tyler did was watch Chris. Everyday, at least once, he would look up to find the DI’s eyes on him. He could feel them, even when he refused to look. This made him even more nervous, because one thing he knew about Tyler, was that he was a damn fine detective. There was no way he was going to miss what was right in front of him, not when he was looking for it, no matter how hard Chris tried to hide it. He knew the man saw every second glance he gave the pretty new PC down on the first floor, every rent boy they interviewed whose eyes didn’t regard Chris like a complete stranger, every time his own eyes weren’t drawn to the new canteen girl’s tits with a magnet, like every other bloke in the room. Chris watched Tyler watching him, and he was scared.

As weeks turned into months, Tyler watched, Chris watched back, and the fear faded. Partially, this was because Tyler hadn’t done anything. Surely by now he must have seen enough to be sure what he was looking at, and yet, he continued to watch and do nothing. But even more so, it was due to what Chris had seen while watching Tyler. He knew he wasn’t as good at observing or remembering as his DI was, and he didn’t dare take any kind of notes, but he was learning. Most of the time it was Tyler himself that was teaching him, helping to make him into a better DC. And what he was beginning to see was that Sam Tyler was one sick pervert.

Now, Chris knew he had little room to judge, but he was finding that his own was an ordinary kind of perversion. There were men all over the city who desired the same things he did. He had even shagged a few of them. That didn’t lessen the fear or the shame, not really, but it did make them just a little bit _duller _somehow, less cutting. Sam Tyler was something else altogether. And why Chris should be surprised by that, he had no idea, but Tyler was sick in ways Chris hadn’t even considered before.

It made him angry, because sometimes Tyler was just like everyone else. When he would eat lunch with Cartwright, smile into her eyes, and steal a look down her blouse. When he would watch her leave the room, and Chris could just see him picturing what her arse would look like without skirt or knickers in the way. He wasn’t faking that the way Chris sometimes did, he really did feel those things. He seemed to actually _like_ Annie too; they were sweet together. That was why the other times made Chris so mad.

Because sometimes, Tyler was anything but sweet. Sometimes he would get edgy and moody, then start acting like the annoying twat the Guv always said he was. Pushing and picking at everyone around him. Everyone, but most especially the men, and even more so the men he knew would eventually push back. The Guv, of course, took the brunt of it, but that was just because he was there and easy to goad into the reaction Tyler was looking for. Ray got his fair share as well, and any other man likely to lead with his fists, even suspects. Chris didn’t think any of the others knew Tyler did it on purpose. They just thought him an insufferable bastard at times, one that needed someone to put him in his place.

But Chris knew. He saw every bloody nose, skinned knuckle, and bruised rib. He saw the look in Tyler’s eye when the balance finally tipped, and a swing was about to be taken. And win or lose, he saw the look in those same eyes when it was over. When he would pick himself up, dust himself off, and go back to being sweet.

He was calmer after one of his punch-ups. Back to being the careful and precise man Chris admired for being everything that didn’t come easy to him. Sometimes he would even stay that way for a good long while, but it was always going to come around again. Because, Chris realized, the fights may have been what Tyler pushed until he got, but they weren’t really what he wanted, or at least not all that he wanted.

Yes, Chris saw Sam Tyler for the twisted fuck that he was, and he no longer feared what the man knew about him. Now when he remembered that one-sided conversation overheard in the bogs, he had whole new reasons to be uncomfortable.


	2. Wednesday Evening

It happened on a Wednesday. Just an ordinary day with nothing to distinguish it from a hundred other days, except Tyler’s, once again, increasingly bad mood. He had been such a snotty tosser during the entire investigation, that the rest of CID would have barred him from the celebratory drink at the Railway Arms, if they could have figured out how. Chris kept his head low, and watched as the man continued to mutter disparaging comments into the general cheerful mood in an attempt to disrupt everybody’s good time. It wasn’t their fault they had caught the guy because his car had run out of fuel after the last robbery. Better that than have him pull another blag next mouth. A guard had died in the last one, and leads had been scarce.

It took an entire darts game for the Guv to lose his cool. Chris thought he must have been getting better at dealing with Tyler, or perhaps just better at ignoring him. But when he finally slammed down his empty glass and fairly shoved his DI out the back door, no one even moved a muscle. It was just fifteen minutes or so before he strode back in, face bearing just a trace of a smirk, as he demanded someone buy him a drink. Chris complied with good will and waited until the Guv, drink in hand, was once again at darts, before venturing out the back door himself.

What Chris found in the alley was exactly what he had expected to find, judging by the look on the Guv’s face and the state of his knuckles when he came back inside. Tyler was sprawled up against the brick, sweaty and dazed-looking, with a split lip, and a brick burn on the side of his face. Blood flecks on his own knuckles testified that he had gotten a few shots in. Not that Chris had doubted that; Tyler always fought back, and hard. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Guv’s easy gait had taken an effort of will, and quite a few shots from that flask of his to accomplish.

As Chris approached, Tyler blinked, some awareness seeping back into his eyes as he began to come back from wherever his dazed brain had taken him. He must have still been pretty out of it, though, because he flinched as Chris’ shadow fell on him.

“Shush, it’s Skelton.” Crouching down , he placed a hand lightly on Tyler’s outstretched thigh.

The dazed DI blinked one more time before the undamaged side of his mouth quirked in something Chris could only assume was less painful than a smile. “Chris.”

Extending his arm, Chris helped Tyler get his feet under him and stand shakily using the wall for support with his other hand. The nails were ragged as they clutched at the brick, and the sight sent a thrill through Chris that kept him rooted firmly in the man’s personal space. Tyler didn’t seem to think this strange, simply twisting to lean against the brick with a long sigh.

He rolled his head over to look at Chris. “Thanks for the help. I appreciate your kindness.”

Chris looked at his DI standing there, bruised and bleeding, scuffed and dirty in an alley behind a pub. He thought of everything he knew, everything he had seen since that day in the bogs. He brought to mind every push, and shove, and nag, and shout that this man had directed towards the Guv over the past few weeks, that had led directly to tonight’s lost tempers and that alley. He thought all of these things, and leaned in just a bit closer and replied. “No you don’t.”

Tyler’s head came up off the wall, straightening to look Chris in the eyes. “What?”

“You don’t appreciate kindness.” And with that Chris brought up his left hand, grabbed just under the chin, and shoved. Tyler’s head wasn’t more than an inch or so off the brick, but Chris had managed to put enough force into the move that it impacted with a crack that sickened Chris at his core. Tyler let out a weak groan and his eyes went wide with surprise, but the rest of his body was suspiciously relaxed, and this goaded Chris on. “Maybe you like kindness from a bird like Cartwright, but not from the Guv, and not from me.”

By this point he was leaning so far in towards the other man that it was a matter of less than two fingers width to lean in and press their mouths together. His lips were soft and perfect, just like Chris always thought they would be, but when he dipped his tongue inside, Tyler’s mouth was full of blood. Hot and thick, it coated his taste buds, making him start to gag and pull away. But Tyler wouldn’t let him. He was pinned to the wall at his throat, but his hands were free, and they grabbed the front of Chris’ shirt and hauled him back, making the kiss into something fierce and hard that had to hurt like hell against that split lip.

The violence of it scared Chris. The clutching hands kept him off balance, sprawled along the body of the man that was most-times his DI. He desperately needed to make it stop. Even as their mouths continued to work against each other, he struggled, but could get no leverage against Tyler’s demanding grip. Finally, desperate to bring things back to some sort of sanity, he did the only thing he could think of. He used the left hand that was still about the top of Tyler’s throat, and he squeezed.

No kindness.

At first this only caused the wild thing clinging to him to groan and clutch harder, but as breath ran out, and more effort had to be put into each gasp for air, the hands dragging at him loosened, allowing Chris to regain his footing. It wasn’t until Tyler broke off the kiss that Chris relaxed his hold and stepped back, leaving Sam slumped once more against the wall, swallowing loudly around new bruises and dripping blood from the reopened split in his lip.

It should have been a pitiful disgusting sight, a gasping bleeding man, leaning on a wall for support in a dim and dirty alley, but somehow it wasn‘t. Chris had seen many men bruised and battered over the years. That was life; that was being a copper. Some wore the marks with anger, some with shame, others like badges of honor. Sam Tyler wore them like he had seen birds wear the diamond their bloke gave them when he proposed. Like it was something wonderful and exciting, something that gave them a place in the world, transforming them into something more than what they were before.

He was strangely beautiful like that, with Chris’ own finger marks blossoming on his throat, a counterpoint to the abrasions that the Guv had left on his cheek. And that was an idea that quickened his breath in his chest, that he, Chris Skelton DC, could leave marks in the wake of the overriding force that is Gene Hunt. That his own marks would also be welcomed, be worn with the same air, look just as good.

Oh god, he wanted that. It was sick and twisted and wrong and not even his own, not really, but he wanted it, just a piece of it, for himself. His fists clenched, even as his cock filled, and he warred with himself seeking some sanity amidst this madness. He should have known that no such sanity would be had in the presence of Sam Tyler. The man was madness.

Perhaps he saw Chris’ inner struggle, or perhaps he had just got tired of waiting for the other man, with one last look at Chris, Sam leaned his head back against the brick, closing his eyes and running one hand down his abdomen to cup himself fully through his trousers. His hips rotated twice against the heel of his hand before he brought the other up off the wall to make short work of button and zip. Drawing himself out, Tyler ran lazy strokes from base to tip with his eyes closed, acting for all the world like he had no idea anyone else was there.

Chris’ own cock jumped, jealous of the attention.

It took only two steps to place himself within touching distance, though the gulf between them had seemed much wider, and the lines he was crossing felt like stepping off a cliff. His stomach lurched like he was really falling and his heart hammered, reverberating throughout his body.

He looked Tyler over, from the tip of his head tilted back against the wall, down past a neck drawn tight and inviting over finger shaped bruises, to the open collar of his shirt and the man‘s favorite leather jacket. That jacket which Chris just knew was hiding other marks from him, the idea of which made his hands twitch. And finally to his cock, flushed red and standing out from the front of those tight trousers. He was beautiful like that, and Chris hated him for it. Hated him for making him step over those lines, for making him capable of being someone he hadn‘t ever wanted to be. In that moment Chris hated him, thought he might hate himself in the morning, but right now it didn‘t matter, he hated him enough not to be kind.

He grabbed Sam again, this time by his ridiculously short hair. Right hand under his chin, holding his head perfectly still, he reached out with his tongue and licked the trail of red drops from corner of his mouth, before looking hard into the man’s eyes. “No kindness.”

Sam’s breathy answer was barely audible even to ears mere inches away, a dreamy look in his eyes. But those eyes met Chris’ in acknowledgement, perhaps even in thanks, as he whispered. “No kindness.”

When Chris released his hold, he felt Tyler’s hands drifting to his belt, and a momentary flash of panic ran through him at the idea of Sam’s touch. He was barely controlling his own fall as it was, he couldn’t bear that. Close on that thought was a hot rush of anger. How dare he! Tyler had put on his little show, now it was HIS turn. He was not about to lose his balance yet again to the bruised man in front of him. Chris reveled in that anger for a second, let it buoy him up, and drive out the last vestiges of fear, uncertainty, and disgust. Let the rising tide of lust fill him in its wake, burning him inside until all his clothes felt too tight, not just his trousers. Until he was the one who groaned when he slammed Sam’s hands into the brick above his head and closed fingers around thin wrists, leaving marks to match those on the throat.

Tyler didn’t make a sound, but his breath hitched, and Chris felt hips give a little helpless thrust in his direction. Oh yeah, the bastard was enjoying this.

Flipping Tyler around to face the wall took effort, but this time Chris was the one with the leverage, and Sam wasn’t fighting him, not really, but far be it from Tyler to make anything easy. Chris didn’t mind, it gave him an excuse to lean in, pinning the other man’s chest and shoulders to the wall’s rough surface with his body weight. One hand still holding Tyler’s wrists above his head, he let the other wander down to slip under shirt and vest. Fingers skimming over the skin underneath, trying to find the Guv’s marks, signs of the violence that had left Sam dazed and quiet, there for Chris to find. A small sound halfway between a hiccup and a moan told Chris when he had found the right spot. He held Sam even tighter as he ran his finger tips around the area, feeling for the edges of the slight heat, judging its size and shape. A full-on impact from a fist he thought, imagining it, Hunt all coiled anger lasting out, how the pain would shoot through Sam as it landed, likely doubling him over, even as he relished it.

Chris ground his hips down on Tyler’s ass as he pictured the blow, then scratched his nails hard across the place where it had fallen, claiming it for his own, and raising a whimper from Sam as he bucked back hard. Chris’ nerves sang, his own breath becoming ragged as he dipped his hand down to grasp Sam’s cock where it protruded. Velvet soft skin, but he was rock hard and leaking from the tip. Collecting the moisture to slick his fist, he began slowly jacking the length, reveling in the feel of Sam in his hand, of Sam splayed out along his body, pressed between him and the wall. The rough brick scraped his fingers as they held Tyler’s wrists, contrasting with the soft/hot feel of Sam’s cock in his other hand. The scent of his leather jacket blocked the other less savory scents of the alley, feeling cool against his chin, but nearly as soft as the skin he was working. He used the slight twisting motion he had always been so fond of, earning a groan from deep in Sam’s throat, and leaned forward, the silly short haircut giving easy access to his neck, which Chris leaned in and nipped.

Tyler groaned harder and thrust forward into the fist. Letting go of finesse, Chris nipped again at the exposed neck, pushing with his own hips and encouraging Sam to set a quick pace, forward into his hand, back against his body in the narrow space between their lower halves and the brick of the wall. Chris soaked in the feeling of Sam Tyler beneath him as the motions grew more desperate, holding him down tight as he came apart.

When Sam came he jerked hard against that hold, letting out a ragged cry, and finally managing to tip Chris off balance, tumbling them both against the brick, and scraping the skin off the knuckles of the hand still wrapped around Sam.

With a curse, Chris let go of Tyler to step back and shake his smarting hand. Sam, without a body to steady him, crumpled to his knees at the base of the wall. Chris sucked on his knuckles, the taste of his own blood mixed with Sam’s release, and the sight of the man on his knees in front of him, was finally too much. Once again grabbing Tyler by the hair, he fumbled his own zip open.

No kindness.

This was something different from every other blowjob he had ever received. This was not an artful act of seduction by a paid pro or someone looking to gain something by it. Sam was wrung out from the fight, the orgasm, not able to do much more than open his mouth and ride it out. Chris gave him little chance anyway, relishing the rag doll feel as he just took, knowing he was barely giving the man time to breathe, and not caring. His other hand was still in his mouth, savoring the flavor of the blood that had so disgusted him earlier. Now the taste seemed fitting, a tribute to the violence of the moment, like the marks that had been left on Sam.

Hot on that thought came the overpowering desire to mark him again, just one more time. Pulling out and releasing his grip caused Sam to slump back against the wall, his sprawl leaving him in nearly the exact same spot that Chris had found him. So close now, it took only a few strokes to bring himself off. The rush of satisfaction as ropes of white landed on soft leather mingling with physical release, to make Chris feel larger than life.

He paused only a few seconds to get his breath, and do up his trousers. He felt satisfied, important, so much more than a div, and he wanted to stand there and soak it all in, but experience had taught him to get the hell out before the high faded away. The problem was this wasn’t some quick fumble with a stranger across town, who was even now running just as hard in the opposite direction. This was the Boss he was about to leave, dirty and glassy eyed, with his todger sticking out for all to see.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t leave him there like that. He walked back over, staring down at a man he respected, listened to, who was usually the neatest and fussiest person he knew. It was wrong to see him like this. He couldn’t do anything about the mess on the jacket, the dirt, or the bruises, but he knelt down and carefully tucked Tyler away and did up his trousers. It was the least he could do, even if he couldn’t bring himself to meet the other detective’s eyes. Sam didn’t seem much interested in eye contact either, but he patted Chris on the hand where it still rested on his hip, and gave him the same one-sided quirk of the mouth he had before, even as his gaze was fixed on some point only he could see.


	3. Monday

It was Monday before Chris saw that jacket again.

Tyler hadn’t worn it Thursday when he came in to work looking like he had been on an all-night boozer. Since half of CID had done just that, he hadn’t stood out much, and no one commented beyond the usual crap. But Chris couldn’t stand the reminder, and jumped at the first chore that came up, anything to get himself out of the office.

Friday, Tyler had gotten a bee in his bonnet about something or other and run off before Chris made it in. Ray bitched, said the Guv wasn’t pleased about the Boss’ latest crazy idea, but the tone he used let Chris know that the snappy tension between the two of them had eased. It seemed Tyler’s mood was back on keel, with the rest of the team following the lead of the sheriff and his deputy. Chris really wished he could as well.

He spent the weekend worried he would never be at ease in CID again. Not that he ever truly was. Been playing at being something he wasn’t since he got there, really. Still, he mostly liked who he was when he was at work. The team div maybe, but he was learning. He liked learning: applied muscle and intimidation from Ray; intuition, leadership, and just how much could be accomplished with sheer determination from Gene; surveillance and procedure from Sam; and even a bit of that psychology stuff from Annie. He cursed himself for a third-rate idiot for letting his curiosity and his dick turn him into something that might take all that away. He couldn’t believe he had done those things, was disgusted by the fact that he enjoyed them. And if his own reactions made no sense to him, then Tyler’s made even less.

On Monday he managed to avoid the DI all morning, but he was sitting in the canteen with some of Gwen’s quite passable vegetable soup when Tyler walked in, wearing his jacket. It looked clean and tidy, if a little worn, much like Tyler himself. Chris wondered how much four days had dimmed the man’s other marks, and then rubbed self-consciously at his own half-healed knuckles, hating himself even more for thinking about it at all.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not, Boss.” And he meant it, he really did, but the words still came out stiff and unnatural.

Tyler took the seat across from him and looked around, likely to see if anyone was close enough to overhear, before speaking. “I think you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Not at all, Boss.”

That got him a small sigh, as the DI’s shoulders slumped slightly. “_Now_ is not the time for lying to me, Chris.”

“All right, maybe a little bit.” was addressed more to the soup than anything else.

“You know, it’s hard to properly say thank you to someone when they won’t be in the same room with you.”

Chris’s shock at that finally raised his eyes from the table and got him to really look at the man across from him. “What do you have to thank me for, sir?” He couldn’t see much room for gratitude in the images that had haunted his weekend.

“Chris…” Tyler trailed off, rubbing his hand through his hair before starting again. “I can’t even begin to explain my problems to you, and you probably don’t want to hear them anyway. But what you did for me…” Now the man was actually blushing. “I haven’t felt this real since, well, since before I even got here, if I’m honest.”

Chris knew his confusion must have been showing on his face. It usually was.

“Oh never mind. Just, thank you.”

“Uhm, you’re welcome, Boss?”

“Not Boss, I think, not for this one.” Tyler said with a faint smirk that had Chris returning his earlier blush, with interest.

Once he seemed to realize no coherent response was likely to be coming, Tyler turned a thoughtful look on the DC, and added in a interested but confused tone that was familiar from when they were working cases, “I’ve been wondering quite a lot for the last few days, how did you know?”

Chris briefly considered evading or pretending not to understanding the question, but he supposed the man deserved an answer. “I’m a detective, Boss. Err, Sam. I intend some day to be a good one. I guess once a suspect, so to speak, was brought to my attention, I just followed procedure.” He shrugged, hard pressed to really explain.

“And what procedures would those be?”

“Well, first I watched, uh, did surveillance, looking for patterns in the suspect’s behavior. Noted when things didn’t fit. Then I looked for new patterns, to fit the evidence available, and came up with, uhm, a theory.”

Tyler quirked a small smile at Chris’ attempts to use the kind of phrases he tossed around all the time. “ So what did you do about this theory?”

“I waited until there was an opportune moment to test my theory.” Chris relaxed a bit at the widening of the grin on the other man’s face as he got the phrasing right. He felt his own grin start to surface as he added, half sheepishly. “Then I followed my gut and jumped in with both feet.”

Tyler laughed, a full-out unrestrained laugh that Chris wasn’t sure he had ever heard from him before, at least not when the man wasn’t in mortal danger. “That would seem to be the SOP around this place wouldn’t it, Detective Constable?”

The smile that accompanied that question, was infectious, seeming to lighten the mood of the entire room, and widening his own as he replied “Yes, Boss.”

“I’m impressed, Chris, really. That took some serious observational skills, an open mind, and a hell of a lot of guts. If you keep thinking like that, you’re going to make one damn good detective before long. I might have to start looking to my job, with you around.”

The warmth Chris felt at the praise was surprising. He had learned things Wednesday night, about Tyler, about himself, that he just didn’t think he could get past. Yet here he was listening to this opinion of his skills, and reacting as if he still respected the man. How did you respect a man you had seen like _that_? Visions of dirt and cum and blood assaulted him, the rough brick of the wall, Tyler’s throat wrapped around his cock, the farthest things from respect he could imagine. The man was half crazy, everyone knew that, and now Chris knew he could be a truly twisted fuck at times, but damn it, he still liked him, still thought of him as one of the best coppers he had ever met. It was as confusing and contradictory as Sam Tyler himself, but it was a strangely hopeful thought in ways that Chris couldn‘t bring himself to pin down just yet.

They finished the rest of their meal in silence, but not an uncomfortable one, and when they got up to leave, this time they left together.


End file.
